A Lonely, Sad, Broken Man
by Jcaslcgaiwd
Summary: Sherlock was kidnapped by Moriarty and has changed dramatically. Now it seems he's becoming slightly worse, but will the ex-soldier be able to figure out why before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or I would never make people wait so long for season 3

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"JOHN, SAVE ME!" Sherlock yells, fear and pain in his voice. John runs in, a worried look on his face. He sees the detective in his bed, still asleep and tangled in the covers. The doctor shakes his friend awake, trying to pull him away from the terrible nightmares. Sherlock's blue eyes snap open, full of fear and panic. He was breathing heavily and was holding onto John's jumper with an iron grip. Once Sherlock has calmed down a bit, John begins to ask questions.

"Sherlock, what was your nightmare about?" John asks, rubbing Sherlock's back to calm him down. The detective takes a few shaky breath, takes a deep sigh, then answers.

"I-it was a nightmare about Moriarty."

"What happened, Sher?" Sherlock shakes his head, making his curls fly and bounce around. "Come on, Sherlock. You can tell me. You'll be fine." After a long pause, he finally answers.

"I had a nightmare about what happened when I was with him."

"When he had taken you away from here and had hurt you?" Sherlock nods, clenching his hands together. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock shakes his head and John nods, understanding that the detective just wanted to forget the whole thing. "Well go to sleep and we'll see if you're better in the morning." John gets up and is about to leave until a hand stops him. He turns and sees Sherlock wide eyes that had scared lookin them, like a child who has been living on the streets his whole life.

"Please don't leave me, John." John runs to get blankets and sleeps on the floor next to Sherlock's bed, ready to stop any more horrible nightmares. Luckily it doesn't happen for the rest of night, which the doctor is very thankful for.

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John sipped his tea, savoring its flavor. He was a bit sore from sleeping on the floor last night, but at least Sherlock was happy. The younger man was still sleeping, trying to catch up on the sleep he's lost from his recent nightmares. About two months ago Moriarty had broke into the flat and kidnapped Sherlock for nine days. That may nor seem like a lot, but it was for the detective. He had been, tortured, beaten, broken, and raped by Moriarty himself. The reasons being was he wanted to hurt Sherlock and make him regret ever standing up against Moriarty himself.

One night after Sherlock had gotten home, John heard him yelling in his sleep. "Stop, please stop! Get off of me! John, save me please!" Sherlock had begged in his sleep. The ex-soldier had woken him up and Sherlock had collapsed into his arms and cried for an hour. At that moment John had known he was a broken man. Light footsteps run across the floor and John sees his friend. The two don't speak, both eating their breakfasts silently. It's Sherlock who begins the conversation.

"John, I'm ready to tell you about my nightmare last night." The ex-soldier sits forward, giving the younger man a gentle smile. "I was back with Moriarty, in the basement where he had been keeping me for those nine days and I was tied to a bed. He began by hitting me with a whip and he laughed and laughed. He threatened to kill you, and Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft. Then once I was bleeding all over the place he unzipped his pants and raped me. It went on forever and I was in pain, and I was also... burning. Like I was in Hell and he was the devil himself.

"I began to cry and he laughed even louder and hurt me even more. I couldn't stop it! Then I was screaming and sobbing at the same time, begging him to stop. He leaned in really close toy ear and whispered 'No, pet. You must suffer until you have no heart and can feel nothing, like me.' That's when I began screaming for you to save me and you did." John clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable by that story.

"Sherlock, was that a dream or, um a- a memory?" Sherlock lowers his eyes and stares at the ground, seeming very uncomfortable to John.

"A memory." He whispers in a broken voice. Then he begins to wail loudly, crying into his scarred hands. John holds his friend, whispering comforting words and telling him it's all over.

"No it's not, John!"Sherlock snaps, tears falling down his cheeks, "I will never forget what Moriarty did to me and I will always be a lonely, sad, broken man."

"Yes, Sherlock, you may be a sad, broken man, but you are not alone because I will always be here for you." John gives his friend a comforting smile and Sherlock hugs him, happy that John will always be there for him. His friend. His best friend, John Watson.

Review please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well I decided to add another chapter to this story. Why? Because I was in the mood. Warning this story will get more graphic in the next few chapters. This one has mentions of rape and killing so you have been warned. This chapter has a slight fluffy moment and in sorry, but I found it necessary. Now time for this chapter!

Disclaimer: I do own Sherlock! (I'm just kidding, I really don't. Even though I wish I did). ;)

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Sherlock shivered under his blankets, pulling them closer to his body. His stomach growled, but he didn't want to get up. All he wanted to do was to hide under the safe, warm blankets forever. He couldn't sleep either, haunted by his memories. He rubs his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to come. The door opens slightly and the detective closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He hears John sigh and come towards his bed. The younger man tenses slightly, still very scared of others touching him. John's soft hand rubs his shoulder gently.

"Oh, Sherlock. I wish you would just get up and be my friend again." Sherlock hears sadness in the older man's voice. The door opens and shuts again, leaving the detective alone. He wishes he could go back to normal, to be happy and smile with John, but he couldn't. Not anymore. No, he is changed for the worse, possibly forever. Soon he begins to drift into sleep, his tired body allowing him some rest. Too bad the rest wasn't pleasant.

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_Pain, hurt, and terror._

_ The devil's cackle ringing through his bleeding ears._

_Everything hurts._

_Everything burns._

_It never stops._

_Each touch burns his skin, melting it in the process._

_Any gentle touch makes him uncomfortable._

_Sherlock tells him to stop, but begging only encourages him to hurt you more._

_If you cry he hits you to make you cry harder._

_This was his punishment for you._

_He liked to hurt you._

_It made him feel powerful._

_He wanted to be king and rule._

_Rule your mind._

_Rule your body._

_Rule you heart._

_Rule you._

_This was why he was hurting you like this._

_He liked to be king._

_He was right, he does look good in a crown._

_Especially when you are laying next to his throne._

_Broken and beaten._

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"John, he's only going to get worse." Doctor Fawking says through the phone, worry in his voice."Sherlock needs another examination and possibly psytriatric help."

"Yes I know, but he refuses to get out of bed, much less get in the car to visit his least favorite place in the world." John scoffs, hearing the other doctor click his tongue in protest.

"Well figure it out. I will be ready for you at fout thirty." The other line goes and the ex-soldier sighs, pulling his phone from his ear. That's when he hears it again. Sherlock yelling at the top of his lungs for help. John runs into the room, noticing the hysterical man is not on his bed. Instead he was on the floor, tangled in the blankets. The screaming has stopped, making everything much easier.

John giggles a bit, watching the detective roll around as he tries to escape the white, fluffy bonds. He stops laughing through when Sherlock begins to turn blue. He's being choked by the sheet around his neck! John tries to pull it away, but the struggling man is only making it tighter with every movement. The doctor gets up, running into the kitchen. He searches through the stuffed kitchen drawers, finally finding a knife.

He sprints back into the bedroom, Sherlock's skin nearly purple. John carefully and quickly begins to cut the sheet, urging himself to go faster. After what seems like forever, he cuts through it, pulling the entire sheet away. Sherlock coughs, trying to breathe.

"Hey, mate, just breathe." John comforts, rubbing his friend's back. Sherlock gets his breath back, falling into the ex-soldier's arms. He just leans against the older man's chest, making sure he's still there and safe. "Sherlock, we need to go back to the hospital today and you need to see a doctor who can help you, all right?" Sherlock nods into his friend's shirt, knowing he needs help. That's when John knew how bad it exactly was.

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John paces back and forth nervously, hoping his friend was okay. The thought of foreign hands and unfamiliar voices surrounding the already terrified man worried John. He couldn't possibly imagine what Sherlock was feeling or thinking. A loud scream makes the ex-soldier jump put of his skin and he listens for where the distressed noise had come from. It had been down the hallway. Where Sherlock was.

Alone and scared.

John sprints down the hallway, trying to reach his friend. He gets to the room and flings the door open, surprised at what he sees. Sherlock was being held down by two large male nurses, while another was trying to jab a needle into his arm. One nurse who was blond, was trying to hold down Sherlock's flinging arms.

The other was trying to strap his arms down, while his legs had already been. Sherlock cries, telling the men not to hurt him. The one trying to strap him down slaps him, yelling at him to shut up. This only makes Sherlock yell louder and the male nurse clamps a heavy hand over Sherlock's mouth, muffling the hysterical cries and pleads. After a moment of staring, John recovers from his shock and let's all hell break loose.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?! HE NEEDS HELP, NOT TO BE DAMAGED MORE THAN HE ALREADY IS!" The nurses stop, just staring at him. The nurses were still now, but the one was still covering Sherlock's mouth. "Get... off.. of.. him. Now!" John ordered, trying not to rip this guy apart.

"I can't, sir. He'll just start screaming again and scare everyone in the hospital." Just then Doctor Fawking walks in, dropping his jaw when he sees what the nurses, his nurses were doing. He places his clipboard down calmly, adjusting his glasses. John watches as his eyes turn from warm and friendly to fury and hellfire.

"Nurses, grab you're coats and leave. Do NOT come back or you will really know what happens to staff who mistreat patients " The nurse who still had his hands on Sherlock tried to protest, but Doctor Fawking stops him with his hand. "Nurse Gare, get off of my patient now." The nurse sees the fire in the doctor's eyes and does so. Sherlock begins sobbing and yelling again, while the nurses leave with their heads bowed.

Doctor Fawking goes over to the broken man, beginning to unstrap his bonds. He doesn't yell at Sherlock, he only calmly releases the man, gesturing for John to come to him.

"Doctor Watson, please come over here for a moment." He does so, noticing Doctor Fawking eyes were calm and friendly again. "I need you to calm him down, then i want to look at his lower area again, just to see if he's healing alright." John nods, walking over to his friend's side. Sherlock has his head buried into the sheet, crying and beating his fists like a small child throwing a tantrum. John squats down so he's at Sherlock's eye level.

"Hey, Sher, stop yelling and look at me." He says softly, getting no response. He tries again, but a bit louder. "Sherlock, look at me and calm down. Alright, mate?" Sherlock stops kicking, but is still crying. At least he wasn't screaming anymore. "Good, now Doctor Fawking is going to look at your lower body, but their is nothing to worry about. He is not going to hurt you, okay?" Sherlock nods, finally done crying.

John takes his friend's hand, wiping away the tears. The older man rubs his friend's head, calming him. Sherlock flinches a bit when Doctor Fawking begins to evaluate his area, but with some comforting words and friendly smiles, Sherlock lays his head down and relaxes. He listens to John's soft voice murmuring to him oh so gently. Sherlock closes his eyes, exhausted from all of his carrying on. John thinks he's asleep, until Sherlock grabs his hand tightly.

"John, thank you for protecting me." He whispers with a smile.

"No problem, you're my best friend." Sherlock closes his eyes and after a few minutes, Doctor Fawking finishes. Him and the doctor step into the hallway, leaving Sherlock alone for a few minutes.

"So how is he, Doctor?" John asks, crossing his arms.

"Well I have some... unexpected news." John raises an eyebrow at the doctor. "It appears that Sherlock's lower area hasn't healed at all."

"What?!" John spats, complexity shocked. "But it's been almost a month, how is he not better?"

"Well it seems it's gotten worse actually." The ex-soldier cannot believe what he's hearing. "It appears the damage is further than it was last time. Much worse."

John's jaw hits the floor.

"How the bloody hell could it have gotten worse?" The doctor pauses, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"John, has anyone been in the flat lately with Sherlock besides you?"

"No, only me. Why?" John was terrified to hear the answer that he already knew.

"It seems that someone is coming and doing these things to Sherlock."

"How often?" John whispers horsley.

"Quite often. At least once a day." Doctor Fawking answers calmly. "I can run some tests to take samples to see who is doing this to him."

"Oh, I already know and I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!" John yells, clenching his fists together. How could he have not known that this was happening to Sherlock?! How could he have been so stupid! He was going to kill that man! He was going to rip his throat out, then watch him bleed. Make him suffer, make him beg. Make him hurt like he hurt Sherlock. That bastard was going down and John was the one who was going to crush him. He was going to kill Moriarty with his bare hands.

_That_ was a promise.

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Do you want more? Review and let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Well here's chapter three. I don't really have a set time of when I will update this story, but if you want a set one (because you're just that kind of person) then let me know! Also this story is just going to get darker and darker, so be prepared.**

**Disclaimer: You all know I don't own Sherlock.**

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John sat in the chair his back aching. He was watching Sherlock, protecting him from the devil. He watched Sherlock's thin chest rise and fall slowly, looking almost peaceful. Mycroft had put the cameras back into the flat, strictly for his little brother's protection. Sherlock was curled into a ball on his bed, blankets pulled closely to him. He looked so tiny, innocent, and carefree.

If the ex-soldier didn't know any better, he would think his friend was just fine. Too bad he knew better though. The sun creeps into the room, waking Sherlock up. He groans softly, wiping his eyes. He turns to face John and smiles softly.

"How'd you sleep?" John asks.

"Better." Sherlock replies, shrugging his thin shoulders.

"No nightmares?"

"No nightmares."

"That's good. Well I'm gonna go make breakfast now." John touches his friend's shoulder then leaves the room. Quickly he whips up some eggs and coffee, knowing Sherlock and him are going to need the protein.

The two sit down and eat, making small conversation. John tells Sherlock he has to go to the store and the younger man tenses. Oh right, he didn't want to be alone.

"Hey, you'll be fine. Mycroft had cameras all over the flat, remember? Plus I'll only be gone for an hour or so, then we spend the rest of the day together. Good deal?" Sherlock nods, fear still behind his eyes. John grabs his coat and keys, but Sherlock stops him. "What, mate?" The detective hesitates for a moment.

"Don't be too long."

"I won't."

"Promise?" Sherlock asks, his voice so small and innocent.

"I promise. Be careful, Sher." John waves and leaves the flat. He thinks about the look in Sherlock's eyes. How scared they had been. How innocent and fragile. It was as if Sherlock was afraid something would happen to him while John was gone. As if something bad was going to happen to him while he was alone. But nothing was going too. Mycroft had that entire place wired, Moriarty couldn't even glance at the flat for a second without the government official knowing.

John takes his time shopping, trying to find the right ingredients for dinner. He was planning on making lasagna, Sherlock's favorite. He runs into Sarah while shopping and the two chat and have lunch together. They weren't together anymore, but they were still good friends. She was always a pleasure to talk with, always smiling and making jokes. It was nice for the doctor to get his mind off of Sherlock for a half-hour.

After lunch John leaves the deli and takes a cab ride home. He notices Mrs. Hudson is gone when he gets back to the flat, but a little not saying:_ Had to meet sister down town. Be back soon, love!_, shoves his worries away. The ex-soldier laughs and goes up the stairs, whistling to himself. Today was a good day for him. He opens the flat door, surprised by how quiet it was. Sherlock must have been sleeping.

"Sherlock, I'm back. Get your lazy butt up and help me with these groceries!" He yells, entertaining the flat. He drops the bags when he sees the state of the place. Papers and boxes were thrown on the floor. Even his chair was flipped over. The science equipment on the table was smashed and scattered all over the room. The ex-soldier could hear some sort of substance sizzling as it melted a giant hole in the table.

He yells for Sherlock, a small once of hope in his heart that is friend was at least semi-okay. Sherlock's bedroom room door was open, scratches across it. John looks closer and sees its scratches from finger nails of a person who was being dragged. He also notices slightly fresh blood on it. He swallows and enters the bedroom.

The sight he sees confirms him that Sherlock was not okay.

The dresser was flipped over and Sherlock's clothes were all across the floor, making it nearly impossible to see the carpet below. The pictures on the walls were smashed, including the one with him and Sherlock. It was the day they had gone to the detectives parent's wedding anniversary.

John had wine and cake all over his suit, while Sherlock had all of that on his suit also and his face and dark curls were covered in the white icing. The two were smiling like two mischievous children who had stolen and cookie, then successfully had gotten away with it. John remembered that food fight, though it has taken Sherlock a week to wash all of the cake out of his hair.

John pulls himself from the good memory and looks at the sheets. They once white sheets now had blood stains on them, making John sick because of how much there was and the fact that he knew exactly who's it was. He notices Sherlock's smashed cellphone, guessing that the younger man had probably had tried to call someone for help, but his phone had been destroyed by his captors to prevent him from doing so.

A note lays next to the phone with large and playful letters written on it. He picks it up and reads it, his blood beginning to boil with anger. The six letter note was enough to make John hit the wall, knowing he had failed the duties of protecting from getting Sherlock hurt more. God, this was all of his fault.

_I missed my pet soo much! -JM_

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**Oh no Sherlock was taken! Aren't I a jerk? ;) Oh well, this was fun to write, well not "fun" but at least it occupied some of my time. Updates will come more often if more people review. *hint hint* Gah, just review my story, okay? Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow I'm so happy now, guys! Why? Well because so many of you have reviewed and added this to your favorites. That's so cool, I'm glad so many of you like it! Gosh, I want to hug and kiss you all, but because you are on the other side of the computer I unfortunately cannot. Thank you all though and I love you guys! 3**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but rule everything (well in this story atleast). ;)**

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Sherlock was in pain, everything burning and aching. He opens his left eye, the other completely swollen. He tries to get up, but he is tied down to the bed. His mouth was gagged also. This was all looking very bad for him. He closes his eyes, trying to push away the fear and concentrate.

He had been at home, alone. John went to the store, then they had came. Big men with large fists and guns. He tried to fight and get away, but they were too strong and he had been too out matched. He had tried to call for help, but they had smashed his phone.

He had even tried yelling for John, but his attempts were fruitless. He has been knocked unconscious by the butt of a gun. That was how he had gotten into this situation. The door swings open and the detective tenses, knowing that cheerful whistle all too well. Morality stops and smiles at him in a cruel, yet satisfied way.

"Hey, Sherlly. I missed you soooo much!" He exclaims, skipping over to the detective. He sits on the bed, staring into Sherlock's eyes. He begins to stroke his curls and Sherlock tries to shake him off. "You don't wanna play, dear? Well then I guess I'll make you whether you want to or not. BOYS!" He bellows and two rather large men come in. They break the ropes, lifting the scared man up.

They tie his hands back together, pulling him out of the room. One pushes him onto the floor and he curls into a ball, knowing he's about to be tortured. A hard kick in the stomach makes him cough. They kick him ten more times and he feels his ribs break. He lays there, shivering and suffering.

Moriarty gets in his face, smiling at him. He stokes the young man's face gently. Sherlock doesn't protest or pull away because he was in too much pain and agony to care.

"Ready to go again." The devil whispers in his ear, undoing the button on his trousers.

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Sherlock remains on the ground, sore and in pain. He feels tears falling down his cheeks, but doesn't give a damn because being in as much pain as he was, he deserved to shed a few tears. He's pulled up by his hair, sitting on his knees. The iron grip doesn't release his hair and his scalp begins to burn with pain.

Moriarty smiles at him, running a smooth hand down his face. He then pulls his hand back and slaps the detective. Sherlock yelps, his cheek throbbing. The consulting criminal turns and leaves, leaving the frightened man alone with the spider's henchmen. One of them pulls a knife out of his pocket and Sherlock tenses, the grip in his hair tightening even more.

The knife cuts into his arm and he screams, finally collapsing.

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Sherlock wakes up, his arm bloody, just like every part of him that wasn't throbbing. He was laying in his "bed" again, but on his stomach. He was scared that he was going to be raped again, until he feels a cold, sharp thing tracing down his back. One of Moriarty's henchmen were cutting into his back!

He tries to scream, but his mouth was covered by a gag. He feels as the knife cuts deep into his skin, making permanent scars. He digs his nails deep into his skin, trying to draw away the pain from his back. He begins to cry again, memories hitting him like a slap in the face.

Memories of his father hurting him, attacking him, touching him. His father had been a drunk who always took his anger put on Sherlock because he had been so small and helpless. His mother did nothing to help or save him. She had just stood there, watching Sherlock suffer. Even when his father had touched him she had done nothing, only stared and acted as if nothing was happening.

Mycroft had never tried to defend his little brother, leaving him all alone to go to a private school. Sherlock's father had never allowed him to leave, always wanting his pet there by his side. Growing up had been hell. Everyday he had been beaten or abused, mentally and physically. Nobody understood what he had gone through.

Not even John.

Sherlock hated it when people called him names like "sociopath", "machine, and "freak". He had a heart also, it's just that it had been torn out when he was young. He wish he could feel. He wished he could care and love, but he couldn't. Caring would allow him to feel, then what he felt would be taken away. He couldn't allow that to happen. He wouldn't.

Not again.

Sherlock closes his eyes, slipping into his mind palace. He pulled himself away, trying to block out the pain and hurt. That's why he had built his mind palace, to get away. To hide. Every time his father had hurt him, he would slip away deep into his mind palace, knowing it was the only place he could hide and be semisafe.

Eventually the knife stops and he's left alone to suffer and bleed some more. He curls into a ball, shivering violently. He traces his fingers down his back, falling the open wounds. All across his back were countless cuts, some long and deep while others were only on the surface. He was still going to have a whole bunch of scars. Forever most likely.

The detective closes his eyes, thinking about his friend, John. How John had always been there for him, always was by his side, always took care if him. Even when he was sick and puking every five minutes. The older man was always so kind to him when he was sick, never leaving him alone.

He hated being alone.

He had been lying when he said, "Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." John was right, friends do protect people. They always stay by your side, even when your the biggest dick in the world. They understand you better than your own family. They love you and will be with you through thick and thin.

Sherlock wraps his arms around himself, wanting John to be here with him. Why? So he wouldn't be alone. So he wouldn't be lonely anymore. Or sad. Or broken. He hated being those things. He once had been and now he was again. That road had been hell. Now he was in the heart of it. Right smack there. In the cage. The devil's cage.

Moriarty's cage.

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**Review and request of what you would like to see! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, guys, what the heck?! I told you all his excited I was about how many of you reviewed and favorited my story, then chapter four rolled around and only one of you made a review? Come on, that sucks! Reviews are like a writers fuel, you know? Please don't make me sad again and review. I love you all and I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, obviously.**

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John ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. Lestrade was making phone calls and trying not to pass out. Then John's cellphone rings and he notices the numbers blocked. He almost doesn't answer, until he let's hope say that it's Sherlock. Well, more like Moriarty. He orders the D. I. to trace the call, putting it on speaker. For a minute all they hear is static, then heavy breathing. He raises an eyebrow, almost considering hanging up.

"Hello, who is this?" The ex-soldier asks firmly, slightly agitated. Now wasn't the time for your damn games, Moriarty! He gets an answer, except it isn't what he expected.

"J-John? Is t-th-that y-y-you?" It was Sherlock, but his voice was so weak and frail. John takes a deep breath, trying not to break down. "P-please come and g-g-get me." He begs, the detective's voice filled with tears.

"Of course, but you need to tell us where you are."

"I'm at a warehouse in Cardiff, near the river. It's big and gray with a big gray truck outside."

"Where's Moriarty, Sherlock?" He asks, finding this all too suspicious and easy. Moriarty wasn't going to just give up his pet like that. Not without a fight at least.

"He left, but he promised to come back. He said "Hurry before you run out of time, Johnny Boy". Please hurry, John." He whispers, fear in his voice.

"I'm getting the police force together now. Wait ten minutes, then we'll get you away from there, okay?"

"Okay, just please hurry." The line goes and John faces Lestrade, loading his gun.

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After what seems like forever they reach the warehouse, the entire police force running in, gunned and ready for a fight. John runs in first, Lestrade and Donovan at his side. The rest of the force spread out, searching the other parts of the building. They search for a few minutes, not finding anything. John almost gives up, until he hears Sherlock calling his name weakly.

He jets in that direction, coming to a large area. The only issue was that their were tall crates everywhere. The perfect place for someone to be hiding and watching them, prepared to pounce at any moment. This was a game and he had to play. The doctor walks around the corner slowly, nothing there. It's the voice behind him that makes him stop.

"Johnny boy, turn around, but do it slowly and put down your gun." He turns around, obeying the spider. He looks up and sees that Moriarty has a knife against Sherlock's thin neck. The younger man was stiff, frozen with fear. He was on his knees with Moriarty's hand clutching his hair tightly.

John makes eye contact for a moment, trying to tell his friend that everything was going to be okay. He had to also convince himself.

"Moriarty, let him go." He requests calmly. His heart was pounding so hard against his rib cage. Yes, he was terrified. Terrified that something would go wrong. Terrified that Moriarty would change his mind and kill his friend. Terrified that John would make the wrong choice. "What do you want?"

"I want to burn the heart out of Sherlock. I want to hurt him."

"I think you've hurt him enough." He gestures towards the blessing and bruised man. The consulting criminal shakes his head.

"No, he still has a heart and I have to take it from him."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can " He answers, an odd twinkle in his cold black eyes. It was as if he had a plan. "Here, take him!" He spats, pulling the knife away and pushing Sherlock to the floor. He smirks. "He's so weak and broken now, it's almost pathetic. I don't see why you want him back."

"Because he's my friend." John says through bared teeth.

"Well, I'd better be off. Cioa, John Watson. You'll be hearing from me." He says, repeating their first encounter. He begins to walk away, disappearing into the shadows.

"Catch... you... later." He replies, smiling at himself.

"No you won't!" He yells playfully, already on the other side of the building . John runs to Sherlock, pulling the man into his arms. "Hey, Sher, you okay?" The consulting detective nods, his eyes half open. The doctor begins to observe his injuries, making sure none of them need immediate attention. He tries to pick the thin man up, but he begins to speak quietly. The blond man puts his hears against the chapped mouth.

"Don't let him get me again, John."

"I won't, I promise. Never again." He feels tears in his eyes. If he hadn't left Sherlock alone at home he would have been safe and not here on the cold hard ground, crying and broken. "I will never, ever leave you alone again. You're my best friend and I'm so sorry for abounding you."

"No you didn't abandon me, John, you just did what you had to. Don't blame yourself. You had no way of knowing that Moriarty's men were going to come to Baker street. I forgive you though."

"Thanks, mate." He smiles, patting Sherlock's back gently. "Come on, let's get out if here." He puts a thin arm around his shoulder, pulling his friend up. They walk slowly, trying to exit the building. They almost make it, but almost counts as much as horse shoes and hand grenades. A gun shot rings through the air. Sherlock falls to the ground, not able to get up. But he wasn't the one who had been shot. No, not even close. It had been John.

This was how he was going to do it.

To burn out his heart.

Moriarty had shot John.

Now his best friend was going to die.

He would be forced to watch.

Damn, Moriarty was right.

This was going to burn his heart out.

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**Haha, cliffhanger! Review and rave.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well, this is the my story. Thank you to all who reviewed, favorited, or just read this. I love you all and have a great day!**

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Sherlock was almost convinced it was all a really bad dream that he just couldn't wake up from. He would have been entirely convinced if it all didn't feel so real. He could feel the blood on his hand's, hear John's groans and gasps of pain, smell the red liquid, taste it in his mouth, smell the gun powder, and see it with his own eyes.

He begins to panic, knowing he could lose John. His best friend. How could he live? How could he go on? Sherlock was even more broken than before and he needed John. He needed someone who could save and comfort him from his nightmares, and himself.

The doctors and police run in, trying to help the two men. Lestrade grabs Sherlock, but he holds on to John, scared to let go. It was as if holding the ex-soldier would save his life.

"Come on, Sher. Let's go." Lestrade says gently, trying to pull the man away. He was surprised by his strength, considering his lack of food or health.

"No, no, no! I can't, he's my friend!" He yells, desperation in his voice.

"Listen, mate. If you don't let the doctors take care of him something very bad could happen." Instantly the broken man let's go, falling into the D. I.'s arms. He begins to sob and Greg holds him, whispering soothing words and rubbing his hair. Eventually he picks Sherlock up, bringing him to the ambulance.

They place him on a gurney and he begins to yell for John. They give him some knock out drugs and he's out like a light finally calm and at peace. Well, at least until he wakes up.

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Sherlock wakes up, his head fuzzy and drugs running through his system. He looks up, Lestrade staring at him. He's almost to afraid to ask.

"Is he okay?" He croaks, scared.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's recovering now, but you're the one who you should be worried about." Sherlock nods, knowing it was the truth. Greg was right, he wasn't okay. He needed help and he was damaged, possibly forever. Lestrade leaves, allowing Sherlock needed rest.

After a week the two are released from the hospital, allowed to go home. John was fine, except a bit paler and he needed to wear a bandage over his right side for a few weeks. The same wasn't for Sherlock. He had a broken hand, a sprained ankle, a torn muscle, and a hell lot more of cuts, bruises, and scars.

He has to go therapy three times a week and Mycroft puts the cameras back in the flat. Sherlock clings to John most of the time, not wanting to be alone. Mrs. Hudson does most of their shopping now, mostly out of the kindness of her heart. The detective doesn't go to crime scenes for a while, not really wanting to leave the flat.

Sherlock also has to take sleeping pills because if he doesn't, he wakes up in the middle night, yelling for help. He also begins to draw and write, making it a way to express the way he feels. John keeps all of it, admiring its beauty. Some days the younger man will just fall to the floor, crying hysterically.

John just holds him, whispering comforting words and rubbing his curls. After that he usually tucks the broken man into bed, knowing he'll be better by morning. Slowly life moves on and the two help the other heal. Sherlock pretty much goes back to him old self, except he's much more skittish and the nightmares show up at random times.

Moriarty is executed by Mycroft himself. Sherlock is just happy he will never see that man again, but John is thrilled the sick bastard is finally dead. The ex-soldier sleeps well that night, knowing him and Sherlock were going to be just fine. After all of their hell, it was all over. They could go back to their normal lives.

That is exactly what they do.

They go back to solving crimes, but Sherlock always avoids ones that have to do with torture and such, knowing what it's like. Also it brings back unwanted memories. John meets a woman named Mary Mortasin on a case and the two begin dating. A short while later they get married and inform the detective they are going to be moving out soon.

This puts Sherlock in a bitter mood because he knows he will be alone once they are gone. He heads to Bart's morgue, thinking hard. He bumps into Molly Hooper and she smiles at him, asking of he was okay. He shakes his head,.suddenly breaking dawn again. He tells Molly everything and she listens to every word, comforting him.

He stops crying and she brings him tea. She tells jokes and stories taking his mind off of his worries. She finishes and Sherlock asks her to dinner. At first she thinks he's kidding, until she sees the look in his eyes. The two go, happy to have the other. Sherlock may be sad and broken, but he wasn't lonely.

That's for sure.

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